


1. The first of October

by gwevyan



Series: 31 Days of Halloween (and Autumn) Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (not that way!), Crowley's been rubbing off on Aziraphale, Crowley/Aziraphale is just canon ok? seriously the nightingale sings look up the song, Gen, M/M, pesky book buyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwevyan/pseuds/gwevyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first of October.  Aziraphale has a plan. (31 Days of Halloween prompt challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first of October

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, I listed this as m/m. Like I said in the tags (sort of), I really do believe that Aziraphale/Crowley honestly is canon. That's not a slash-goggle-whatever talking, it's textual. Nightingale sings. Canon. Besides, it's also just the fact that if I ever have a relationship as loving as these two obviously have, I'll be very happy indeed.

It was mid-morning on what was shaping up to be a perfectly British (that is to say, grey and damp) day and Crowley found himself, as he so often did this century, wandering aimlessly towards Soho.  He wondered idly if his feet had been cursed or conditioned to take over the moment his mind relaxed and take him to wherever the Angel of the Eastern Gate happened to be, on the basis that being in the presence of said angel usually meant either trouble or drink.  Either were better than boredom.  With that cheerful thought in mind, he hurried on.

The bookshop was open- wonder of wonders- so Crowley pushed through the door without having to glare at the lock first.  He paused.  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, feeling rather confused.  ‘Wrong shop.’ He turned around.

‘Oh, hello.  Come in, dear.’

Crowley turned again.  That was Aziraphale’s voice, but this definitely wasn’t Aziraphale’s place- it looked like a tanning salon or a Caribbean tour travel agency.  Paper suns and plastic beach toys hung from the ceiling on strings.  Cardboard fold-out palm trees stood in the corners, and steel drum music belted out from somewhere in the back.  The scent of coconut and lime covered up the usual bad smells Aziraphale kept around.  Aziraphale himself stood behind the counter, wearing Bermuda shorts with tall black socks and a truly painful Hawaiian shirt, and affixing a Tiki torch to the end with tape.

‘What on earth have you done to your shop?’ Crowley asked.

‘It’s the first of October,’ Aziraphale said, as if that explained everything.  'How are the anthurium?'

‘Blooming gloriously, if they know what's good for them.  And I know the date,’ Crowley said, picking his way around a bristling display of brochures on day trips around London.  ‘Do angels regularly go out to lunch on the first of October?’

Aziraphale frowned.  ‘Not regularly,’ he said, stepping away from the Tiki torch to check its alignment.  ‘But if you had the Savoy in mind, I could certainly- oh, I see.’

Crowley raised a thin eyebrow.  ‘The decorations?’'

Aziraphale flapped his hands dismissively and headed towards the back.  ‘You know how they are.  The humans.  Come the first of October and they all get in a mind for autumn- wearing nice woolly jumpers-'

'Only _you_ think they're nice,' Crowley hissed snidely.

'-and hats and wanting hot drinks no matter the weather.  Come through, I’ll make tea.’

‘Why’ve you decked your place out like a homage to cheap summer holidays, then?’

Crowley sat and accepted the steaming cup Aziraphale held out to him before sitting down with one of his own.  ‘Well, they’ve all gone off summer holidays now, haven’t they?’  Aziraphale pointed out.  ‘I thought it might…turn them off the place.’

Crowley gaped at him.  ‘ _Angel_.’ 

Aziraphale looked rather guilty and hid his face behind the rim of his cup.  ‘I know it’s not quite fair, but the street association’s been on at me again about my opening hours, so I thought-‘

‘That’s positively _devious_.’

‘I-oh.  Oh dear, do you think so?’

‘I do,’ Crowley said warmly.  ‘Angel, I think I’m proud of you.’

Aziraphale blushed faintly and raised his cup again, this time to hide a rather pleased smile.  ‘Oh.  Well.  Thank you, my dear.’

They sat together in silence (save for the steel band) for a long, peaceful moment, sipping their tea.  The clouds parted until Crowley was square in the middle of a windowful of autumn sunlight and he felt his toes curl in pleasure as he soaked up the warmth.

‘Savoy?’ he asked finally, before he could draw too close to falling into a doze.

‘Why not,’ Aziraphale said drowsily.  ‘You can steal the bread basket and we can go visit the ducks after.’

There was another long muzzy pause as they both revelled in the golden glow and the kind of easy, quiet company that only comes from two people spending enough time with each other that they only need words because they like the sound of each other’s’ voice.

Aziraphale shifted.  Crowley shifted as well, to keep the angel’s ridiculous glaring shirt out of his line of sight.  ‘I have key lime tartlets and coconut margaritas,’ Aziraphale said.  ‘Care for a drink before lunch?’


End file.
